


Your Head in My Heart

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Nonnies Made Me Do It, OTP Feels, Porn with Feelings, Post-TRoS, tearful blow jobs, yet another reunion sex story idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23216791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: The hours after Exegol are a celebration, but a slightly crazed, definitely off-kilter one.  Adrenaline still twangs at Finn's nerves and his chest stays tight.Prompt wastearful blowjobsand Finn'scrying faceowns me, so.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 3
Kudos: 57





	Your Head in My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> title and epigraph from BSS, "[Gonna Get Better](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CY5Xl4I5IcQ)"

> Future's not what it used to be/We still got to go there

The hours after Exegol are a celebration, but a slightly crazed, definitely off-kilter one. Everyone's still so keyed up. As news comes in, ships don't return, joy swings to grief, then back again. The atmosphere is exuberant, nearly hysterical, and raucous. Adrenaline still twangs at Finn's nerves and his chest stays tight. He can't quite catch his breath. His steps are unsure, gravity something of a stranger.

Even sitting down, sharing a drink with some people he doesn't know, he can't find his balance. He's trembling under his skin. He keeps checking his hands, sure that they're shaking. They aren't.

Poe's arm is just the right kind of heavy around his shoulders. Not so much comforting (though it is that) as holding him down. Keeping him in place.

"You like that? We could do that," Poe says when Finn confides as much to him. His fingers curl into the collar of Finn's jersey. "Hold you down? Take our time?" 

Snorting, Finn just shakes his head. Poe starts to lean back, let him go. He's probably hurt, so Finn grabs him. "Maybe some other time," he says, right up against Poe's ear. Stubble scrapes Finn's lips. "Right now, I need —" 

He can't think of the words. He's cold, suddenly, then very warm when Poe wraps his arm back around him. Around Finn's waist this time, as snugly as ever. 

They haven't really let go since finding each other after returning from Exegol. Hours now. When he pictures what it will be like to let go, fear pierces him over again, frigid and jagged. His head swims.

"Hey, hey, easy." Poe gets them to their feet and guides Finn toward the woods, where it's darker and quieter. The riot of the party still surrounds them, just at arm's length now. When Finn stops, about to ask Poe where they're headed, Poe's kissing him and easing him back against the broad, smooth trunk of a myrneti tree. He covers Finn, presses into him, from chest to thigh. 

The heat of Poe's mouth, his persistent, confident touch, the familiar post-battle smell of him (sweat and bacta, brandy and a little blood), all combine to weave a suggestion of relaxation within Finn's mind. It's a net, however, lacy, full of holes. Through them, fear is still trembling and thudding. Relief winks in and out but the shuddering anxiety keeps on.

"You made it," Poe's telling him, moving his mouth in a great messy arc down Finn's neck and around his jaw. This is his usual litany, every bit as sincere as the first time he murmured it, back on the _Raddus_ before everything went to hell _that_ time. "You made it, I made it, we're here. We're here. Here."

His nose burns, his eyes sting. Finn thumps his head against the tree, looking up into the canopy and the night sky. The sight shivers, blurs, and he's crying again. He clutches at Poe's jacket, then his waist, finally touches skin at last. He digs his nails in, he mashes their mouths together. The energy surging through him is hot and cold at the same time, he's mindless but also intent, he know what he wants and he despairs of ever getting it. Their teeth clack as he kisses harder, then bites on the swell of Poe's chin and moves the flat of his tongue against the stubble until he's burning inside and out.

He mutters something about _back_ and wrestles them around, switching places, stumbling, until Poe's shoved against the tree and Finn's collapsing to his knees.

"Hey —" Poe touches his cheek, fingertip glancing like the wing of some passing moth. Repeats himself until Finn reluctantly meets his eyes.

"Let me," Finn says, ready to argue. Reckless and headstrong Dameron wants to wrap him up and treat him like something fragile? Fuck that. "I know what I want."

"Never said you didn't." Poe's thumb grazes Finn's lips, then brushes away a tear or two. 

Finn shakes his head, dislodging Poe's hand, as he yanks open Poe's breeches. He leans in. Poe's touch settles on the back of Finn's neck.

"Harder," Finn tells him. He strokes Poe's shaft and works his tongue around the head, lapping up hours of panic and sweat, enough to get drunk on, certainly dizzy. "Harder. Make me. Make me take it."

There's a pause then, in the noise of the party and back here between them. Time takes a gulp, shivers, and then everything resumes. Poe shudders, toe to chest, his hand curling around Finn's nape, while Finn pitches forward. Grabbing at Poe's thigh, his mouth skating down the side of Poe's dick, Finn takes a huge breath and buries his face in the crease of Poe's crotch, right up against the hair and hot skin. He remembers sliding off the dreadnought — getting thrown backward by Rey — crashing into Jakku — all these twisting, flaring, gravity-tilting memories stream together and pull him in every direction.

Back at the party, someone shouts, another fighter comes in to land, a flare goes up. Finn can't see, can barely hear, but he feels it all in the wavering space under his skin, twined around his bones. His tears flow fully now, unstoppable, as he mouths at Poe's cock. He's hungry and gagging. Poe strokes the edge of Finn's ear, tugs at his twists. 

"You made it," he says and Finn's eyes sting all the worse but his body settles into its rhythm. Habit takes over, happy and familiar habit. His lips stretch and his tongue throbs. He gets just the keening wheeze out of Poe, a tighter grip on Finn's neck. 

The tears are drying as he pumps his mouth up and down, pauses to suck on balls until Poe's knees knock against his shoulders and his hair gets pulled. He's back to swallowing around the heavy heat of Poe's dick filling his mouth, nudging at his soft palate, popping at the back of his throat until Finn coughs and sucks, sucks and coughs. He knows what to do, he knows what Poe likes, he wants to do this for hours. Days.

Head thrown back, Poe comes with nails scrabbling down Finn's neck and his hips shoved forward, spilling over Finn's tongue. Come swamps the taste of tears. Finn presses his forehead against Poe's bare thigh and fights to get his breath back.

He's not dizzy any longer. Nor is he crying, or remembering. He's just swallowing and licking his lips, pulling his best friend down to meet him here on the jungle floor, kissing him. There's a soft mud patch and ropy roots, the smell of night sap and pollen, and Finn sinks a little farther, holding on.


End file.
